Dark Souls 3: The Written Version
by TheeDraconian
Summary: Rising from the grave to witness the Kingdom of Lothric dying and the dead walking, one unnamed man must seek the Lords of Cinder to rekindle the flame, in a grueling journey in which he faces the world's greatest demons and demigods. He will die, but under the curse of the Darksign, will continue his journey until the flame is rekindled... or not.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_ Recently got Dark Souls 3 after a long time of wanting it. Been loving the game despite the fact it kicks my ass. So... I decided to write on it.

...

Cold.

Slithery, biting cold. Like chains being wrapped around his skin after submerged in the snow.

It hurt.

He longed for warmth. He inhaled involuntarily, his mouth caustic and dry. A thick, powdery substance filled his mouth and nostrils as soon as he inhaled, causing him to cough and choke on whatever it was.

He floundered in the substance, thrashing and trying to throw it off him. His head broke clear, along with his upper body, flinging the grey substance off him along with a black lid.

Light blinded him, causing him to blink rapidly. His sight adjusted, he looked around him. The grey substance coated his lower body still, but the cold persisted, tearing through his bones like an icy river.

Ash.

He blinked again, this time in bewilderment, looking at the dark tomb he had sat in.

 _No…_

He stood up, desolation usurping the cold in his body.

He put a hand to his chest, hoping, praying…

His chest remained still, not even moving from his breathing.

 _No…_

He looked to the sky, feeling the tug of a leather shield and a battle axe on his back. The sky was grey-yellow, the sun hidden behind clouds. In the distance, far, far away, there it shone. The proud, august, mighty Lothric Castle, its grey expanse consuming half the horizon.

 _The Darksign…_

He tore off his gauntlet. There it was, emblazoned on his palm, a fiery ring surrounding an expanse of black.

I'm…

He was Undead.

And he was doomed to go Hollow.


	2. Dark Souls 3: Cemetery of Ash

_Author's Note:_ I beat Aldbitch. XD Anyway, I'm going a little off course and detailing some of the events that lead up to Lothric's current state, including all the inhabitants being Hollow, those who are alive and Undead, the Lothric Civil War due to Gertrude's faith of Angels and Lothric's Three Pillars. All that fun stuff. It'll be detailed probably up until the High Wall of Lothric. Next chapter is our first boss! Also, if you guys want me to add the Ravenous Crystal Lizard in, let me know. -Draconian

...

The weight of his shield and axe pulled down on his back. Alive, his nerves would have burned from hefting their weight, swinging the massive battle axe with every fiber of his being. His arm would have been dead to him from holding the shield, thrusting it out to parry and riposte them.

Now, they were weight, yes, but that was all. His arm no longer burned from swinging the axe experimentally a few times, his shield being held up indefinitely with no pain. Dead nerves felt nothing.

But he knew he was Undead, doomed to go insane. Whatever physical perks he gained were nothing compared to the deterioration of his mind.

Memories flickered through his mind. Sitting before a fire, through which rested a coiled sword. The heat was intense for a such a pile of kindling, but he sat before it, reaching out. His skin caught fire, burning, searing, smoldering him to ash. His screams were silent, as fire clawed up his throat and fire coursed through him.

Then a period of darkness, through which no time could be measured, and the cloying, suffocating ash afterward.

He looked up and behind him. Above him, behind sheer black cliffs, loomed the mighty, indomitable Lothric Castle, an oppressive grey in the greyish yellow light.

He set out on his path, winding down through several tombstones and out into path wherein one could walk into the cemetery. Ash crunched under his feet, wondering why there was so much here.

 _Crunch._

He heard it in front of him, a footstep that wasn't him. A figure stepped out from the cliff. A face, sunken in with a hole for a mouth through which rattling, unnecessary breaths were taken, its teeth smashed and yellowed, its skin brown and thin as paper. Black clothing hung over its tattered frame, and it carried a broken straight sword. No eyes sat in hollowed sockets, yet it turned to him.

 _A Hollow._ He thought. It kept walking, raising the sword with a bone thin arm. It slashed down, the man rolling to the side and smashing his battle axe into its head, where putrid brain and brackish black blood soaked into the ash.

The man's confidence grew, if not his understanding. _Hollows? Here? In a cemetery?_ Surely the living would have killed the Hollows, for mercy if not necessity.

…..

More memories began to flood his mind. Walking through Lothric's market, where people hawked their wares and food, when a commotion at the end of the street began to grab his attention. A man stumbled through the crowd, seeming drunk, but in pain. His screams were terrible, haunting, almost otherwordly. He ran and stumbled, seeming to run from something, although there was nothing there. Guards ran toward the man, preparing to apprehend him, when black, viscous liquid began to bubble out of his back.

"Get back!" Roared one guard, diving to the side.

People began running, watching an horrific figure claw its way out of the man's body in a fountain of red. An entirely black, oily serpent, growing in size, with bone white claws and two glowing red eyes set within a serpent's head, the maw a formless pink void with no teeth.

"Get the clerics!" The knight's dived back, slashing with their swords at the serpent. It was ineffective, however, and the knights were caught in the serpent's grasp, in horrifying sounds of rending steel and snapping bone. The street was clear, and a cavalcade of priests appeared from nowhere, flames and pyromancies in their hands. They began hurling fire at the beast as knights stabbed at it, staggering it and eventually felling it.

It was only later they began calling such abominations the Pus of Man, or Abyss Beasts, where the warm, violent manifestation of humanity latched on like a parasite, turning their host into mindless serpents as big as a small building.

…..

He recalled taking part in the clash with the first recorded Abyss Beast in Lothric. Ducking and diving, slashing at its oily black skin, which seemed to hurt it just as much as flames did. He wondered... If he could get back to Lothric. Talk to some clerics. He risked imprisonment and exile for daring to enter the land of the living as an Undead, but maybe he could get some answers. Warn King Oceiros or Prince Lothric of the Undead rising.

He heard more walking up ahead, along with the raspy breathing and shuffling feet of Hollows. Sure enough, peeking out ahead of him, several shuffled and lay hunched over, shivering. He ran up to them, smashing the axe into two of them faster than they could react. Two of them turned to him, slashing with their rusted swords in frenetic, wild frenzies. He rolled to the side, burying the axe deep in their sides. Slightly ahead, another Hollow nocked an ancient but still functional crossbow, firing bolts at him. He raised his shield, pressing forward while they bounded off. He closed in, shoving the axe through the rotten chin of the Hollow. It dropped, screeching in deathly pain.

Satisfied with his success, he kept walking forward, making to readjust his axe, when he felt his arm catch on something. He looked down, a bolt stuck clean through his shoulder and bone. _Damn!_ He couldn't feel pain, but he knew an injury could damage him in the long run, especially if he let them accumulate. But dead flesh did not mend.

Pondering what to do, he tore the bolt from his flesh, feeling shards of bone roll under his muscles. A flash of bright gold on his belt caught his eye. It was a flask, filled with a strange glowing liquid. He raised it to his mouth, taking a drink. It tasted of cold, clean water, washing the taste of ash from his mouth and filling him with vigor. The strangest thing was, the wound he had sustained had healed, the bone feeling smooth and whole again. He lowered the flask, frowning as he looked at the liquid. Almost a third of it was gone, yet he had taken just a single sip. It must have been magic.

He continued on, walking out into a clearing where the black cliffs fell away. Immediately in front of him the mountainside dropped almost ninety degrees down, and behind was Lothric, proud and massive.

He turned left, the only way to go without falling to his immediate death. Not even that stuff in the bottle would save him from jumping off a cliff.

He stopped suddenly, looking at the strange sight in front of him. A bonfire through which rested a coiled sword, smoldering softly, undisturbed. On a whim he held his hand over the sword's hilt. A small whoosh swept up from the fire, and the fire burned a little more intensely. He sat down, feeling a rush of relief and energy return to his limbs, despite the fact they did not burn from exertion.

He checked his flask, amazed that the liquid in the container had somehow refilled, back to full.

He smiled. Perhaps returning to Lothric wouldn't be so hard. All he had to do was find a way up there.

He looked down across a sharply pitted landscape, leading to a sort of structure in the middle. Beyond that, a tower rose high along with a shingled dome. Civilization. He could get transportation from there.

He set off across the landscape, taking out his axe and wary for more Hollows that would dare to fight him.


	3. Iudex Gundyr

_A/N:_ Damn son, I really should get better about writing my stories. Been a while since I updated DS3, figure I better get back to it. Also, started a pyromancy build in DS3, and holy fuck, why didn't y'all tell me pyromancy was almost cheating? Seriously. Dark Orb, Rapport, Chaos Bed Vestiges... Its nuts. Anyway, enjoy! Been a while! :) -Draconian

The weight of his shield and axe pulled down on his back. Alive, his nerves would have burned from hefting their weight, swinging the massive battle axe with every fiber of his being. His arm would have been dead to him from holding the shield, thrusting it out to parry and riposte them.

Now, they were weight, yes, but that was all. His arm no longer burned from swinging the axe experimentally a few times, his shield being held up indefinitely with no pain. Dead nerves felt nothing.

But he knew he was Undead, doomed to go insane. Whatever physical perks he gained were nothing compared to the deterioration of his mind.

Memories flickered through his mind. Sitting before a fire, through which rested a coiled sword. The heat was intense for a such a pile of kindling, but he sat before it, reaching out. His skin caught fire, burning, searing, smoldering him to ash. His screams were silent, as fire clawed up his throat and fire coursed through him.

Then a period of darkness, through which no time could be measured, and the cloying, suffocating ash afterward.

He looked up and behind him. Above him, behind sheer black cliffs, loomed the mighty, indomitable Lothric Castle, an oppressive grey in the greyish yellow light.

He set out on his path, winding down through several tombstones and out into path wherein one could walk into the cemetery. Ash crunched under his feet, wondering why there was so much here.

 _Crunch._

He heard it in front of him, a footstep that wasn't him. A figure stepped out from the cliff. A face, sunken in with a hole for a mouth through which rattling, unnecessary breaths were taken, its teeth smashed and yellowed, its skin brown and thin as paper. Black clothing hung over its tattered frame, and it carried a broken straight sword. No eyes sat in hollowed sockets, yet it turned to him.

 _A Hollow._ He thought. It kept walking, raising the sword with a bone thin arm. It slashed down, the man rolling to the side and smashing his battle axe into its head, where putrid brain and brackish black blood soaked into the ash.

The man's confidence grew, if not his understanding. _Hollows? Here? In a cemetery?_ Surely the living would have killed the Hollows, for mercy if not necessity.

…..

More memories began to flood his mind. Walking through Lothric's market, where people hawked their wares and food, when a commotion at the end of the street began to grab his attention. A man stumbled through the crowd, seeming drunk, but in pain. His screams were terrible, haunting, almost otherwordly. He ran and stumbled, seeming to run from something, although there was nothing there. Guards ran toward the man, preparing to apprehend him, when black, viscous liquid began to bubble out of his back.

"Get back!" Roared one guard, diving to the side.

People began running, watching an horrific figure claw its way out of the man's body in a fountain of red. An entirely black, oily serpent, growing in size, with bone white claws and two glowing red eyes set within a serpent's head, the maw a formless pink void with no teeth.

"Get the clerics!" The knight's dived back, slashing with their swords at the serpent. It was ineffective, however, and the knights were caught in the serpent's grasp, in horrifying sounds of rending steel and snapping bone. The street was clear, and a cavalcade of priests appeared from nowhere, flames and pyromancies in their hands. They began hurling fire at the beast as knights stabbed at it, staggering it and eventually felling it.

It was only later they began calling such abominations the Pus of Man, or Abyss Beasts, where the warm, violent manifestation of humanity latched on like a parasite, turning their host into mindless serpents as big as a small building.

…..

He recalled taking part in the clash with the first recorded Abyss Beast in Lothric. Ducking and diving, slashing at its oily black skin, which seemed to hurt it just as much as flames did. He wondered... If he could get back to Lothric. Talk to some clerics. He risked imprisonment and exile for daring to enter the land of the living as an Undead, but maybe he could get some answers. Warn King Oceiros or Prince Lothric of the Undead rising.

He heard more walking up ahead, along with the raspy breathing and shuffling feet of Hollows. Sure enough, peeking out ahead of him, several shuffled and lay hunched over, shivering. He ran up to them, smashing the axe into two of them faster than they could react. Two of them turned to him, slashing with their rusted swords in frenetic, wild frenzies. He rolled to the side, burying the axe deep in their sides. Slightly ahead, another Hollow nocked an ancient but still functional crossbow, firing bolts at him. He raised his shield, pressing forward while they bounded off. He closed in, shoving the axe through the rotten chin of the Hollow. It dropped, screeching in deathly pain.

Satisfied with his success, he kept walking forward, making to readjust his axe, when he felt his arm catch on something. He looked down, a bolt stuck clean through his shoulder and bone. _Damn!_ He couldn't feel pain, but he knew an injury could damage him in the long run, especially if he let them accumulate. But dead flesh did not mend.

Pondering what to do, he tore the bolt from his flesh, feeling shards of bone roll under his muscles. A flash of bright gold on his belt caught his eye. It was a flask, filled with a strange glowing liquid. He raised it to his mouth, taking a drink. It tasted of cold, clean water, washing the taste of ash from his mouth and filling him with vigor. The strangest thing was, the wound he had sustained had healed, the bone feeling smooth and whole again. He lowered the flask, frowning as he looked at the liquid. Almost a third of it was gone, yet he had taken just a single sip. It must have been magic.

He continued on, walking out into a clearing where the black cliffs fell away. Immediately in front of him the mountainside dropped almost ninety degrees down, and behind was Lothric, proud and massive.

He turned left, the only way to go without falling to his immediate death. Not even that stuff in the bottle would save him from jumping off a cliff.

He stopped suddenly, looking at the strange sight in front of him. A bonfire through which rested a coiled sword, smoldering softly, undisturbed. On a whim he held his hand over the sword's hilt. A small whoosh swept up from the fire, and the fire burned a little more intensely. He sat down, feeling a rush of relief and energy return to his limbs, despite the fact they did not burn from exertion.

He checked his flask, amazed that the liquid in the container had somehow refilled, back to full.

He smiled. Perhaps returning to Lothric wouldn't be so hard. All he had to do was find a way up there.

He looked down across a sharply pitted landscape, leading to a sort of structure in the middle. Beyond that, a tower rose high along with a shingled dome. Civilization. He could get transportation from there, provided people were alive. Or at least, not an insane Hollow.

He set off across the landscape, taking out his axe and wary for more Hollows that would dare to fight him. Sure enough, slightly down the path were two more Hollows, clutching rusted swords. He approached them calmly, unafraid of their broken swords and rusted crossbows. He dropped down a small ledge, jumping on an old coffin. An item glinted in the sun, a shard of black metal or stone. Titanite.

He picked it up, storing it away. He may be able to use it to enhance the edge of his battle axe.

Looking below him, he saw another Hollow clutching its head in pain or insanity. He dropped down, bringing his axe up as he fell and plunging it all the way through the Hollow's body in a savage plunging attack. He raised his shield as another Hollow fired at him with its crossbow, cutting it down without a second thought.

Ahead of him was the shrine, the great black bell silent and the tower rising on its rocky outcropping. Close. Past this part of the cemetery. He walked beneath the archway. In front of him, a figure was kneeling on the ground, a large halberd embedded in the ground by his side. Through the figure was a sword, long with a coiled blade. He walked up to it slowly, grasping the hilt and pulling it out of the figure in a spray of blood.

He jumped backward, the figure rising swiftly, its helm emblazoned in the face of an old king. The Ashen One raised his shield, preparing to meet the Iudex head on.

The guardian charged at the Ashen One, jabbing outward with its huge glaive. He rolled to the side, stepping into his guard and chopping at the Iudex with his axe. It bit into his chestplate, welling forth with brackish blood.

Gundyr slashed downward, pulling the halberd back from the ground with such force the earth went flying as the Ashen One rolled. He made to slash him again, getting shoulder checked from Gundyr as the blade bit further into his armor. He rolled away, taking a sip of Estus to heal the broken ribs he felt grinding in his torso.

Gundyr, seeming to sense an opportunity, charged the Ashen One, who raised his shield once more. The halberd stabbed out, and the man thrust out with his shield in one perfectly timed move, parrying the halberd. Gundyr staggered, collapsing to one knee. The Ashen One ran forward while Gundyr was staggered, delivering a smashing blow to his face and ripping it out with more force than Gundyr's halberd tearing open the earth.

Gundyr stood up once more, the helm somehow still whole despite the massive hole in his faceplate. The Ashen One prepared to meet him once more.

Then the strangest thing happened. Gundyr seemed to grasp his chest, bending over as a black seething mass erupted from his back, rapidly growing and consuming his upper half as the biggest Pus of Man the warrior had ever seen burst like a dam from Gundyr's back.

The warrior held his ground, preparing to fight the massive Abyss beast. Then he remembered, as the beast leapt at him with otherwordly strength. Firebombs, looted from a small ledge where Hollows guarded such a mediocre, now valuable, prize. He rolled to the side as slimy essence of the Abyss grazed him, tearing open his pack for a firebomb. He just needed an opening as he wove through the claws, mouth, and halberd of the corrupted Iudex.

The Pus of Man was relentless, wild and thrashing with the reckless abandon of humanity, Gundyr's halberd somehow still measured and controlled. It was like fighting an enemy both predictable and unpredictable. Until… finally, the opening he needed. He rolled backward, slashing at the oily black skin, causing the massive creature to stagger just slightly. He hefted the bomb, throwing it with unerring accuracy at the Abyss beast. It shattered against the black skin, consuming a wide swath of the creature in flame than it should have. It writhed, producing an unholy screeching sound as thrashed wildly. He threw another bomb, catching it in the side once again as it tore and ravaged the earth around, so erratic was its flailing.

As the creature burned, the warrior stepped forward once more, striking Gundyr through the black flesh of the Abyss beast. He drew back the axe once more, biting into the breastplate as Gundyr staggered under the apparent weight of the Abyss beast and the battle axe of the nameless Undead.

Finally, as the battle axe broke through the metal of Gundyr's armor, the Abyss Beast collapsed in on itself, sinking into Gundyr as he swayed unsteadily and toppled, his body and halberd dissolving into ash as a coiled sword, slightly smaller than the one sheathed in Gundyr, appeared next to the Ashen One. He held his hand over it, warmth blossoming from the small pile of kindling. His wounds were mended and Estus Flask refilled, ready to journey forward once again.

Above him, the great bell tower loomed, ominous and foreboding. Yet at the same time, he knew it was where he must go. He stored the coiled sword on his back, next to the axe, and pushed open the doors leading to the shrine with a mighty heave that no normal person should have been able to do.

Behind him, the bonfire crackled with warmth in the endless, broken world.


End file.
